


Lay Me Down

by bluegingham



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Claudia Stilinski Memories, Dead Allison Argent, F/M, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Stiles, Kidnapping, M/M, Malia Doesn't Exist, Multi, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Season/Series 03 Finale, Protective Scott, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sheriff Stilinski Feels, Stiles Stilinski Self-Harms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4450889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegingham/pseuds/bluegingham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything changes after the Nogitsune terrorized Beacon Hills. Stiles can't forgive himself, Lydia mourns her best friend and Scott tries to hold the pieces together. </p>
<p>To make matters worse, a dangerous human is now obsessed with Stiles and will do anything to make him his own.</p>
<p>Many triggers, please read with caution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> After thinking over the concept and logistics for months, I have finally translated this fic into words and I'm very excited to keep going! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think :)

“Come on, it’ll make you feel better to get out and see people,” Scott said tossing one of Stiles’ favorite plaid shirts at him playfully. 

The shirt landed on his chest as Stiles stared disinterestedly out his bedroom window. 

It had been two months since they finally expelled the Nogitsune from his body. Two months since he was forced to hurt his friends mentally and physically. Two months since Allison died in Scott’s arms. 

Things did not go back to normal right away like some TV sitcom. There were many loose ends to attend to. Allison’s funeral was one of them. Almost the entire town showed up at The Beacon Hills Cemetery to say goodbye. Stiles tried, but he couldn’t get himself out the door. He couldn’t look Chris Argent in the face knowing that it was his fault his daughter was dead, at least in his mind. He couldn’t look at anyone. Scott, Lydia, his father. There was too much guilt there. 

It was guilt that led him to attempt to hang himself from his ceiling fan with a leather belt. The Sheriff found him before he could kick the chair away. Ten minutes later and he would have been faced with a dead son instead. 

Not wanting to put him back in Eichen House for obvious reasons, they opted for a facility in Fresno that specialized in trauma. They even took the Stilinski’s insurance. Stiles spent two weeks in the brightly lit hospital attending group therapy, private therapy and sitting out in the gardens surrounded by intimidating walls all while wearing pajamas. However, it wasn’t as if he could be completely honest with them in his treatment. Telling the truth would only earn him a lifetime in the nut house. 

He left two weeks later with a prescription for an antidepressant he couldn’t pronounce and an appointment with a therapist in Beacon Hills. Stiles felt better than he had when he was first admitted, but nowhere close to his former self. 

Now it was the weekend before he would return to school. Danny was throwing a party to celebrate the beginning of lacrosse season. In truth it was Scott’s idea, but he decided Stiles didn’t need to know that detail. It was the perfect excuse to get him out of the house. It was no secret he was avoiding his friends. 

“Scott, please…” Stiles begged, still gazing out the window. 

With a sigh, Scott planted himself on the end of Stiles’ bed and stared him down. 

“You know none of this is your fault right?” Scott started with the whole true alpha sincerity. 

Stiles ignored him and started playing with a loose piece of thread on his comforter. 

“You were a victim Stiles. You didn’t ask for this to happen and nothing could have prevented it,” Scott urged. 

“I know Scott, I know,” Stiles rasped with a sigh as he closed his eyes in fatigue. 

Scott was repeating a mantra similar to that of his therapists. They all wanted him to understand that he was as much a victim as anyone else. He saw one of his friends die in front of him. But all he saw was his doppelgänger’s henchmen killing his best friend’s high school sweetheart. 

“So come with me,” Scott said, putting a hand of support on his best friend’s leg. 

Stiles pulled his leg away. He instantly regretted it, knowing he was pushing his friend away at a rapid pace. 

Scott ignored his body language.

“Everyone misses you! Lydia, Kira, even Derek keeps bringing you up,” Scott encouraged. “And the whole team is going to be there tonight. And food! You love food! And drinks and-”

“Scott, SHUT UP!” Stiles exploded. 

Scott looked like someone slapped him across the face.

“I don’t want to go to the party and I don’t want to see anyone. I just want to be left alone! Why don’t you guys get it?” said Stiles with a feral intensity in his eyes that Scott didn’t like at all. 

“Okay,” Scott said bluntly, getting up from the bed. “Fine.”

He went to walk out the door, but stopped with a thought.

“You know what…” Scott started, seemingly at a loss for words. 

“What?” Stiles uttered coldy.

With that Scott just shook his head and left, slamming the door behind him.

Stiles froze and heard his friend go downstairs and slam the front door. The sound of a motorbike signaled Scott’s departure off into the night. 

Though teary, Stiles’ did not fully submit to his emotions. More than anything he just wanted to scream and cry, prove to himself that he was still alive, still human. Instead he remained stoic. 

Shower, he thought to himself as a solution.

He had been showering more than usual since he got home. He would let the boiling hot water shoot down at him at full pressure. By the time he was done he was red and raw.  
Stiles made his way to the bathroom. His Dad returned to work a couple days ago and the house was eerily quiet. It reminded him of how it was right after his Mom passed. The house sounds were suddenly gone. No running water, no dishes clinking, no stairs creaking. At least not as much. There was just uncomfortable silence that he had to face alone. 

Once inside the small space he shared with his father, he locked the door. It was a ritual he did ever since he saw Psycho when he was 10. While he didn’t exactly find Norman Bates dressing up like his dead mother that intimidating anymore, he still never felt safe without it secured. However, now he knew first hand that locks couldn’t keep everything out. Actually, they couldn’t keep anything out in Beacon Hills. That’s why he had a bag of mountain ash in his room. He asked Deaton for some after he got back from Fresno and the vet happily obliged. Kanimas, evil Alphas and nogitsunes, he wanted them all to stay the hell away from him. But as always he was faced with that binding Catch-22; The only way for him to get away from the supernatural would be to leave his friends behind. And despite everything, that was one thing he would never do. 

Borderline boiling water licked his skin as he turned the shower on and he remained without flinching. He knew it was a form of self-harm. The orderlies at the hospital always made sure the water in the showers were just above lukewarm, but once they left him to his own devices he would just turn the lever counterclockwise. Still, he didn’t do it to hurt himself necessarily. When he was possessed he was always cold, no matter what. While some of his memories were still stored away to maintain his sanity, others leaked out. What he remembered was a surreal feeling of being and not being, almost like always being at the cusp of falling under anesthesia. But there were times when the monster made him fully conscious – like when he stabbed Scott. He also maintained a connection even when they were two separate bodies. That’s what no one understood. He had felt everything the nogitsune was feeling when it committed mass murder in the hospital and at the police station. It was unbearable anguish. 

However, a logical side of Stiles remained fully intact. It was that side that gave him the hope that going back to school would be just what he needed, what they all needed. Sure he was scared, they all were. Scott could barely touch Kira, Argent left town, Derek was MIA, and Lydia… well, Lydia was another story. She was probably the one person who he actually wanted to talk to these days. The only problem was she was avoiding him. Ever since the sacrifices a bond had formed between them and they both knew it. He overheard Scott telling Kira that the banshee could still feel his panic attacks when he woke up in the middle of the night. But she hardly ever came around and he knew why. She was afraid to look at him. Who could blame her after all the horrible things she saw him do? He missed her, though. Too much.

When he finally switched the shower off, his skin was extremely red. Good, he thought. The less I look like myself the better.

With nothing left to do with himself, he started to feel guilt. Scott had meant well and he just tossed it back in his face. Stiles knew the party was being thrown just for him, but the thought of being the center of attention send a sharp pain to his heart. He didn’t know why he couldn’t have just put that into words. He would have to apologize tomorrow. Yeah, that would do. But for the time being, his bed seemed like a great idea. It only took him moments to fall asleep.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The man lay perfectly still under the bed. Everything was going according to plan. Once that friend left it was easy to quietly open the door and wait only minutes before the boy stalked off to the bathroom.

He had everything he needed with him in his black duffel. All he needed now was for the boy to go to bed. He’d thought about being in this very room so many times, but nothing could have prepared him for the exhilaration he felt only an hour or less away from finally touching his beloved. 

The shower took longer than expected and he had to fight back the urge to sneak out and get a glimpse of the boy he dreamed of for so long. But he had to remain in control. It would all be worth it soon. 

When he heard his pet return, dripping water onto his bedroom floor, his heart fluttered. He was getting closer and closer. By the time the boy dropped onto the bad he was hard. It was so close.

Now it was time for the mirror. He wasn’t quite sure where he picked up the trick, but when he tilted the small mirror in his hand at the right angle he could see that sweet, sweet boy lying on his side, eyes closed and in a deep sleep. 

The time was now.

Like a cat, he furtively rolled just the right distance to end up right beside the bed. His muscles were cramped from being under that thing for an extended time, but he would be getting plenty of exercise soon to relieve the aches. 

He quietly dragged the black duffel bag from beneath the full bed. The most important ingredient for tonight’s success was securely wrapped multiple times in saran wrap and plastic bags. Chloroform. Not many people knew how to use it correctly. In movies and T.V, the criminals that used the chemical had no sense of measurement. But he had everything planned out just right. He didn’t want to kill his own pet after all. After unwrapping it he grabbed the fresh washcloth and poured just the right amount on it. Even his fingers were tingling in excitement. He couldn’t even imagine how exciting this would be without the necessary chemical. Soon, he thought.  
This was it. He carefully placed the cloth just inches away from the boy’s mouth. With perfect timing, the boy drew a breath and became a tiny bit more still. He was sure enough that it worked to test it. 

He gave the boy a light shake and to his joy the boy remained in a deep, deep sleep. He could have jumped with glee, but he refrained. There was so much to be done. 

First he undressed himself and folded him clothes right on top of his bag. Then he could finally undress the boy. It was easy enough. He was wearing a thin t-shirt and blue pajama bottoms. He slid them off as well as the boxers hugging his hips. He nearly came in the excitement of finally seeing what lay beneath his pet’s clothes. The man stroked the boy’s member a few times before fiercely making out with his sleep-ridden face. When he was through he rolled the boy onto his stomach. 

His behind was absolutely perfect and spotted with a couple of truly adorable moles. It was going to be harder for him to control himself than he thought. Spreading the boy’s cheeks every so slightly, he stole a look at his hole. He didn’t even need to put a finger inside to know he was perfectly tight and untouched, but he did anyway. The man’s erection was getting worse. He needed to get things started. 

The last ingredient was the lube. He didn’t want his precious, precious boy to wake up in too much pain. That and he might get suspicious. However, the man was sure the boy would be more suspect of the typical supernatural madness that surrounded him than an ordinary man. 

When he worked the lube well enough in his hole with a couple of fingers, he smiled. It was time to fully enter his beloved.


End file.
